


Favourite | Izaya Orihara x Reader Lemon

by tsurakofuku



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: F/M, Ikebukuro (Durarara!!), Knifeplay, Lemon, Light Bondage, PWP, Self-Insert, Shameless Smut, Smut, Submission, Wine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:07:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25899424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsurakofuku/pseuds/tsurakofuku
Summary: Izaya Orihara loves humans. Maybe he plays favorites, or at least just for a night. *I DO NOT OWN IZAYA ORIHARA OR DURARARA!! * (One-Shot, PWP, Lemon, Smut)
Relationships: Orihara Izaya & Original Female Character(s), Orihara Izaya & Reader, Orihara Izaya/Original Character(s), Orihara Izaya/Original Female Character(s), Orihara Izaya/Reader
Comments: 7
Kudos: 59





	Favourite | Izaya Orihara x Reader Lemon

**Author's Note:**

> Izaya Orihara x Reader Lemon One-Shot: contains submissive reader, light bondage, light knifeplay (no violence or noncon harm). This isn't designed to fit within any sort of canonical timeline but it doesn't really matter!
> 
> Recommended playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6wQ0D0D6zz2z50SlEVuusW

It's no good to play favourites, and you, metaphorically crawling on your belly through the underlife of Ikebukuro, knew that better than anyone. Your trusted friend one day may be a foe the next, and you may find yourself in bed with enemies - _not_ , now, in the metaphorical sense.

Izaya Orihara shouldn't play favourites but here you are, playing with him. Or maybe you're just playing along. You just can't tell whose game it is. 

You hover uncertainly near the counter, gripping your wine, your eyes on his fingers running lazy circles around the top of his own glass. It's the second time you've been to his apartment in Shinjuku, and in the back of your mind you're not sure if this night is for purely business purposes once more. Your heart is pounding in your ears and you can barely hear what he's talking about. Izaya and his humans, his cold, dismissive glances at the world. Izaya and his hands, delicate yet aggressive. He could raise it to his lips and the same hand could fling it against the wall and shatter it within an instant. 

_Why are you here_ , and you wonder if he's asked you the question this evening or not. 

The idle fingers doing their round come to a stop before your eyes, and you raise them to meet his. You force yourself to meet his casual gaze. "Sorry, what?"

Izaya chuckles in his throat. His eyes are cool, looking at you with half-interest. "I didn't say anything of importance," he drawls darkly with an eyebrow raised. But the hands reach up, past your glass, past you, and up to your face. He cradles your face for a moment. You start forward involuntarily, looking into his dark eyes. His thumbs - smoother to the touch than you expected - caress the side of your face, his cold rings frozen against your wine-flushed cheeks. Just for a moment, there is silence and you hear yourself breathe. The alcohol cloys at the back of your mouth, but both sets of eyes are clear. You part your lips, eager.

And then the serenity is broken when Izaya grips the sides of your face harder and forces his mouth to yours. 

You let out a little moan and you feel him smile against you.

"Is this why you came tonight?"

 _Is it?_ At this point, you don't remember any reason. The wine is beating in your head and your lips are fighting with Izaya in a wordless battle. But something wordless and delicious is stirring in your chest - no - in your stomach - no... 

His hands travel down your neck and you tilt your head back in response. You don't realize it at first, but you've stepped back, or he's stepped forward. The tango steps happen again and your back hits the wall. His hands cushion the impact, and then fall away from you. He breaks the kiss and you lean forward instinctively, your lips chapped yet thirsty for more.

Izaya reaches for a lock of your hair, twisting it around his fingers. His eyes are now dark, flat, unreadable. You challenge yourself to meet his gaze.

"So, I guess I should make your journey out here.. worthwhile," he croons. "I'm still on the clock." 

His apartment, his office. The work area you know somewhat. And the doors, the closed areas you don't know at all. 

"I didn't know I was considered your client," you say.

He winds your hair snug around his finger. "Everyone needs me," he says, and you wonder if it's a challenge. He yanks his hand and commands you back to him.

The pain is minimal, and the relief of his lips meeting your hungry mouth again is soothing. Izaya kisses you deeply, with something more to it than the first time. His hands are back, at your waist now, fingers fluttering lightly down your sides as he moves them up and down, coming closer and closer to your hips. You reach up to his face, to his hair, his coarse black spikes rough in your grasp. You grab a handful and pull him closer to you, your hips rocking in time. Cautiously, you pull him harder.

Izaya is fiercely receptive, as if he was waiting for you to put a little effort into it too. His hands fall down your hips and he strokes and cups your ass, giving it a hard squeeze every now and then. An urge rises to leap into his arms. _Fuck it_. You jump, and he supports you, holding to your ass as you lock your legs around him and continue to kiss him. You grind against him, and you feel his cock through the thick jeans. It goes straight to your heat. It makes your heart and pussy beat together. You're acutely aware of breathing through your mouth as the moans come again.

He hoists you up firmly and carries you a few steps to a door left ajar, using your body to push it open. You push yourself against him as he walks a few short steps into the room - then, a jolt as he throws you down unceremoniously. The spell is broken again for a quick moment and you feel raw, suddenly missing his warmth and weight pressed against you. You feel your mouth water and you push your lonely legs together. The feeling in your stomach sinks further, and you feel warm rushing between your legs. You're on a bed, something plush yet firm under your back. Izaya towers over you in a black v-neck and jeans, miles away.

"Tell me," he says in a sweet murmur that sounds more deadly than anger, "how do you feel about letting go of some control for the night? Or.. maybe you should leave before things go down that road."

An excited jolt goes through you, and you shiver. You raise yourself on your elbows and you speak truthfully, "I'm ready."

"Humans are so adventurous," he says, amused. "The best ones, at least."

It's so eerie how he discusses humans as if he observes them from a different standpoint, as if he doesn't see himself as walking among the same species, but it won't bother you tonight. You won't be distracted. Izaya climbs onto the bed, straddling you. You reach towards him again, but this time he pushes a palm against your chest, forcing you back down. It's insulting.

"Please," you breathe, and he smirks.

"Not yet, baby."

The pet name doesn't sound wrong coming from his lips, and you wait in mollified obedience. He keeps his hand on your chest, trailing fingers down your shirt until he reaches the hem. 

"Take this off." It's an order, of course.

You wriggle out of your t-shirt and uncertainly let your hands wait at your bra clasp - will he need assistance with it? But Izaya isn't paying attention to you. He's unbuckled his jeans and leans over you with the belt, eyes narrowed as he gazes beyond you. Calculating something.

"Put your hands up." 

Obediently, you reach up and feel your hands touch the bars of a slatted headboard. He nods and climbs off you, and you raise your hips in protest. He pays no mind, and you lean your head back to watch him as he grabs your hands, pulling them on either side of one of the bars. You rotate your shoulders to alleviate the sudden ache of the pull.

"Just a moment, baby," Izaya says, and you feel him grab both of your hands with one as he expertly ties the belt around your wrists, securing them around the slat. You automatically tug, not really trying to get free, and he seems satisfied at your immobility. Immobility. Your arms really cannot get free. The desire inside you fades slightly to dread, and you cannot read his face. _How much control does he want me to give up?_ And then, a panicked thought - _will I die here?_ It isn't the most absurd thought. Your heart beats faster, harder, adrenaline pouring through mixed emotions. 

Izaya doesn't notice or doesn't care about any change in your heart rate. He climbs back onto the bed. Finally, he's looking at you again, and you flush with mild embarrassment or excitement or fear, you don't know what it is anymore. 

"What a pretty little face," he says, and leans down to kiss you again. He starts at your forehead, one hand pushing next to your outstretched arm for balance, then to your cheek, then, finally, _finally_ , to your mouth again. You close your eyes and return with vigor, as his other hand trails down to your bra, briefly cupping your chest on his way further down. He slides his hand through the top of your pants, and you gasp into his mouth as he flutters his fingers over the top of your panties.

"So wet," he hisses.

He rolls his hand over the thin fabric barrier between his skin and your slick, wet pussy, catching your lower lips between his fingers and letting go to roll back over your whole area. You try to grind your hips in tune with his motion, begging him to do more, to keep touching you, to go inside you. 

Izaya breaks the kiss to lean back, removing his fingers from your pants to tear his shirt off, throwing it somewhere into the darkness of the room with yours. He locks his hands around your waist and leans down over you, scooting down over your body. You feel your dampness on his fingers and shiver as he begins kissing his way down your stomach. When he reaches your pants, he pulls them down and raises your legs to free them from your ankles. He pushes your legs together, and your pussy tenses against the pressure, longing for him to return. You try to make eye contact, your eyes lustful and begging.

"I- - Izaya," you moan.

"Are you getting impatient?" he says in mock surprise. Izaya lets your legs down and reaches into his pocket, throwing something on the bedspread besides you before standing to pull his own pants off. Your lingerie exposed, him in his black silk boxers, you gaze up at him.

"You're not quite ready," he says, joining you on the bed once more. He fishes behind for him for whatever he threw down, and crouches over you again. 

He waves his knife in front of your face and you catch your breath.

"Oh- oh -"

"Don't be a coward," he says in utter disgust. "I asked you if you were willing, didn't I?"

But you aren't actually scared, and you hate him looking at you like that, so you soften your features. Excitement is overriding every other emotion again, and you watch him with curiosity. He flicks the blade out and spins it slowly, looking at you again. You steadily hold his gaze this time, and he seems to approve.

"Hold still, baby." He leans forward and hooks the front of your bra around his finger. Before you can fully understand, he slides the blade underneath, the cold flat back of the blade touching your skin and making you quiver, he pulls upward and slices the fabric clean in two.

“Oh!” you say in instinctual objection, but Izaya’s attention is focused on your freed tits at last. Closing the knife and pushing it aside, he leans down and grabs the left in his smooth hand, caressing and rolling his fingers up to the nipple, gently pinching and groping alternatively. Izaya’s mouth sinks to the right, lapping and licking, and you feel your nipple pull as he gives it attention. He nips it with his teeth, and you feel your pussy pulse again. You moan, raising your hips and feeling the loose rough lace back of the bra shift under your shoulders as you move in search of him, of more of him. You wish your arms were free, to wrap around his back, to push him closer to you. He doesn’t feel or doesn’t heed your urgency, moving at his own agonizingly tantalizing pace. He briefly lifts his head to switch attention, and as he bites lightly on your left nipple, bolts shoot straight through your body, to the pressure building at the base of your body, to your dripping sex. 

“Izaya,” you whine again. 

“Shh,” he mumbles from a mouthful of breast, and the vibrations make you raise your hips again. He lifts his mouth and looks at you with a smirk. Light is returning to his dark eyes as he regards you. “I love this. I love giving you humans and showing you humans my absolute love for you. So, let me show you some love, baby.” 

It shuts you up, indeed.

He sits up, saliva loose from his lips, and he wipes them with the back of his hand. Your nipples feel cold and lonely suddenly, puckering in the chill absence of his warm mouth. “You can’t be too comfortable, baby,” he says, picking up the knife again. You are still this time, with no complaints, only eagerness. He saws the knife against the straps of your bra, reaching behind you to scoop the frayed scraps away from your sensitive skin. 

But Izaya isn’t done, as he rocks back on his heels and trails his hands down your body to your soaked underpants. The knife is cold against your skin, prickling sharpness when the sharp end accidentally touches you instead. He reaches your panties again and touches you again, the thumb of his free hand tracing your pussy over the fabric.

“How did you get even wetter, baby?” The lust is thick in his voice and you feel a rush come again. He leans down and buries his face between your legs, his breath hot as he breathes in your scent. The wine spins in your head, making a resurgence, and you let out a deep breath you didn’t know you were holding in. Your sensitive pussy sings for attention, and you move your hips slightly.

Izaya gets the message, and the next thing you feel is his tongue, rough against the fabric barrier. He’s technically giving you what you want, but teasing you terribly, and it makes you blind with desire. You roll your eyes back as you feel him, his tongue circling and flicking right over the center, and his fingers gently probing at your bikini line. You wish he would just finger you. 

“Izaya, please, please – “

“Begging is undignified, baby,” he says, but you hear the amusement this time. He’s getting just as much pleasure out of teasing you as you get out of his eventual touches. He reaches up with one hand to squeeze your tender nipple again, the other tracing just outside your lips. You feel him touch your wetness, and your eyes roll back in anticipation. 

His hand circles to the other to give that nipple fleeting attention as well, before returning between your legs. You feel the knife against your inner thigh, and you take care not to grind your hips now, as he pulls one side and then the other of your panties up to slice them open. He pulls them out from beneath you and there you lie, clothes abandoned or in tatters, completely naked and bound to Izaya Orihara’s bed. The delirious, acute awareness of the moment almost sobers you, both in terms of the wine and the lust.

But what matters most is what he’s doing to you as you lie tied in his bed, as he casts the knife behind him and returns full attention to your bare pussy. He lies down, your knees automatically raised, and you feel more than watch as he grips your legs around the side, reaching down with one hand to separate your folds. You feel drenched, but then – but _then_! His tongue meets the inside of your pussy and you let out a yelp. 

Izaya licks all over you, his fingers stroking the top of your pussy finding and lightly pinching your clit with natural ease and speed. 

“Oh, fuck,” you say thickly.

Izaya doesn’t respond. His mouth is full. He kisses you gently before his tongue meets your clit to flicker up to it. Your thighs automatically go to close, to bring him even more to you, and he grips you so hard you know that little fingerprint bruises will appear tomorrow. His other hand abandons your clit to run down the side of your inner thigh, and you feel him approach your opening. 

You shiver as he puts the fingers in, two at the same time, sliding into your slick pussy with ease and curling up to explore the space. He presses inside you, and you crave his tough more. _More._ He moves his fingers quicker and quicker, and you feel the warmth at the base of your stomach begin to flood lower and lower, faster and hotter. He hasn’t stopped licking and sucking at the top of your clit, either, and you begin to feel your heartbeat furiously in your ears. You pant, writhing in your bond.

And then suddenly, he stops, but you aren’t upset this time, because you know what comes now and you’re ready. You lean your head back against the bed, closing your eyes to catch your breath as the edging heat fades a little, just a little. You hear him kick away his boxers, tear something open, and the bed shift as he returns to you. 

When you open your eyes, Izaya is even with you, staring at you with a softness you have never seen him with before. His hands are on either side of your bound arms, propping himself up over you, and he reaches to brush hair out of your face you hadn’t really been bothered by. His own flops over his face, a style you’ve never seen the shaggy black hair fall in before.

“I love you,” he says, but you know he isn’t talking about _you_. 

Humans. That’s the missing word. He loves his humans. 

Not you. _Right?_

_Right? But the tenderness is – is just so new._

One hand slips down to nudge your thighs apart, and you do, a slithery wetness catching between them as you move. You feel his cock, coated in the hard rubber of a condom, come to rest on your pussy, and you squirm. “Fuck me,” you say, perhaps surprising both of you with the command in your voice. 

He grins, a familiar expression, and his hand rises from your thigh to guide his cock to your entrance. It rests, and you open your legs wider, inviting him in. 

Izaya plays for a moment, using a finger again to tease you open, resting his cock against your entrance. You raise your hips, trying to meet him. He teases an agonizing second longer, before pushing his cock into you and letting go.

The fullness up your wet pussy is immediately gratifying, and you wail. Izaya finds his rhythm quickly, steadily fucking you. 

“Faster, harder,” you say raggedly. 

“Don’t get greedy, now, baby,” he says, as if to remind you that he is the one with absolute control. It suddenly feels that way. He leans away from you to kneel back and you instinctively raise one leg to brace it against the wall. He lifts your other over his shoulder and pushes in deeper.

You babble incoherently as his dick hits you deeply, and you hear him laugh in satisfaction. He is fucking you harder now, slamming into you with ease as your natural lubricant leaks from you. You are so fucking wet for this man, for this dangerous man who took a knife to your clothes and could easily drag it against your skin.

You howl as he slams into you. 

The pace is picking up now, and the heat at your base is rising again. You buck your hips against him to match his speed and he seems to appreciate your efforts. He holds your legs against his chest and your feet point to the ceiling as he drills into you. Instinctively you try to reach for your clit, to rub yourself, but find yourself unable to.

The amount of pleasure rolling through you and pooling in your pussy is indescribable as Izaya fucks you senseless. Your arms ache from the pulling and your hands clasp the bars, finding something solid to grab onto, your clit aching and pussy feeling filled. You become aware of Izaya’s own words.

“You’re feeling it, baby? God, you feel so good.”  
“You’re so fucking pretty.”  
“I love you, my favourite.”  
“Your pussy is so fucking wet. You feel so _-so – fucking – good_.”

You pant in response, your words in jagged rhythm with his movement. 

“Izaya- fuck me please, please don’t stop. I love your dick, please. Please.”

“God,” he moans, and sits up a little higher, pulling you as close as your ties allow. Your arms feel the pull, and you cry out in a mix of pain and pleasure. “God, you are my _favourite_.”

As if he can read your mind, one hand falls back to your pussy to play with your clit as the other arm keeps your legs close to his chest. You yelp.

“Is that what you like, baby?” he says, furiously rubbing your clit in rhythm with his ever-quickening strokes. “I want you to feel good, my favourite love. But you can’t come yet.”

You’re so close you barely hear the words. “I wanna come,” you say deliriously, squeezing your thighs together as if to squeeze his hand into you. 

“Not yet, baby,” he says through gritted teeth. “Not quite yet. I’m not there yet, baby.”

 _I don’t know if I can hang on,_ you want to say, as the heartbeat in your ears begins to rise again and the heat begins to concentrate. But Izaya’s pace has picked up with a fervor, his chest and hand sweaty against your legs as he pounds into you. 

“Please,” you say yet again, unsure if you can stop yourself. “Please, Izaya, please let me come.”

“Fuck – yes, come, baby!” 

He pushes into you and you feel his heat meet yours, as the knot in your stomach melts. Your ears ring as your release comes, and the eroticism of coming at the same time sends one last shiver down your spine.

He pants, you sigh, and he slowly lets go of your trembling legs. You hadn’t even realized they were trembling like that. They fall to either side of him, and you feel him twitch within you. You automatically hope the condom didn’t break.

“Fuck.”

You’re not sure who said it. 

Finally, as you both catch your breath, he stands and swaggers over to the corner. You hear the condom peel off and hit a trash can. He rustles on the ground and pulls boxers back on.

“Do you- could you,” you say in uncertainty, as the soberness of coming begins to overtake the lusty fog. You push your hands against the bars, rattling the belt buckle.

“Of course,” he purrs, crossing the room back over to you, and a wave of relief passes over you – of course he wouldn’t keep you tied up, of course – just an unfounded fear.

Not that unfounded. This is Izaya Orihara. He cut your clothes with a knife. And he’s leaning over you with the sweetest expression as he unties your hands. It makes you feel – how? Too many emotions. Suspicious, horny (again), and doting in spite of yourself. 

You sit up woozily, rolling your shoulders and clutching your elbows, urging the blood back to its proper place.

Izaya squats on the floor to examine the scraps that used to be your bra and panties. “We can go shopping tomorrow,” he says casually. “Do you want a t-shirt for tonight?”

“Tonight?” You stammer.

“Of course. I would never send a woman out in the cold without proper undergarments. And truthfully, I owe you for the set.”

You can’t exactly argue with that.

“And,” he says, looking up to smirk at you, “I expect to take another bite out of you tomorrow morning.”

You blush and find yourself unable to meet his eyes again. “Uh – well, then, a shirt would be great. I’ll go to the bathroom and be back.”

He dismisses you with a wave, scooping up the detritus from the evening as you wobble across to the main room on freshly tender legs.

Once outside, you catch your breath, leaning against the wall where he had pushed you against earlier. It feels cool against your naked, sweaty frame, and you brace yourself for a moment before making your way to the bathroom. Your coat and purse are on the couch nearby and you pause to check your phone quickly.

_One Missed Message From: S._

Cold prickles down your back and you quickly close the notification and turn your phone off. 

Two things ring in your mind as you stand in the bathroom with the sink water running, staring into your eyes in the mirror.

One was something you had heard from Shinra, about the man who just gloriously fucked your brains out:

_If you pumped him full of love and betrayal and such, I think he’d fall apart._

And the other was the words you had heard the spiky haired knife-wielder say mere minutes ago, who loved humans dearly.

_I love you, my favourite._

And this was, of course, why you were here in his apartment on this night. Perhaps you were one step closer to making Izaya Orihara, the one who called you his favourite human, fall apart.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I know I say this is a one-shot but I'm very tempted to do a part 2 about what happens in the morning with this bad boy. Let me know what you think! :) ~ Tsura *IF YOU WANT TO MAKE A REQUEST: See the Google Form in my linktree or / DM me on Twitter @ TsuraKofuku *


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